


the intensity in your eyes

by myriddin



Series: Trapped [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Sexual Content, and then giving up of said denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for valar_morekinks meme. Sansa and Jon surrender to the passion between them, physically and otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the intensity in your eyes

It was all Sansa could do not to stare slack-jawed at the sight before her, Jon covered in sweat, the muscles of his exposed back and arms rippling as he pulled along with a few others on a long rope belonging to the builder’s pulley, lifting heavy slate shingles high to be placed on the newly finished roof.  
  
She wasn’t staring, she refused to be staring, and she most definitely wasn’t remembering the intensity of his passion the last time he shared her bed, the way he tasted, smelled, and felt, the movement of those muscles beneath taut, smooth skin.  
  
She wasn’t staring. She was merely admiring Jon’s dedication to Winterfell’s rebuilding.  
  
Perhaps if she said it to herself enough, she might start to believe it.  
  
+++  
  
That denial was harder to maintain later that night when Jon came to her chambers, clad only in a simple tunic and woolen breeches, hair damp from the bath. Sansa felt the familiar fire begin to build inside as she realized he wasn’t even bothering with the subterfuge of reports or missives. No, his intention for visiting this night was very clear- he was hers to have if she only accepted.  
  
Gods help them, they’d only made it a week this time.  
  
Holding his eyes, she undid the laces holding her dressing gown together, letting the fabric slid from her shoulders, joined soon after by her nightdress. Jon’s eyes were dark and ravenous as he tore at his laces and wretched his tunic over his head, working at the ties to his breeches as they began to walk toward one another. They collided in a deep, hungry kiss, Sansa greedily running her hands over warm, smooth skin and the lines of corded muscle rippling beneath it.  
  
Jon reached down to grab the back of her thighs, kicking off his breeches and lifting her to him with smooth, fluid motion. Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips, dropping kisses to whatever skin she could reach, as Jon walked them over to the bed and settled down at the edge with Sansa astride him.  
  
His face level with her chest, his breath was hot against sensitized skin, and she shivered. His mouth closed around one soft swell, suckling the nipple between his teeth tight and taut. She gasped his name, her hands sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair, holding him to her.  
  
She could feel him hard against her thigh and she shifted until he pressed against her sex. She rocked into him, moaning triumphantly as he ground up against her in return. “Oh, Jon. Please, please,” she emphasized her plea by rolling her hips against his, tearing a strangled groan from his throat.  
  
“Gods, Sansa, can I...inside, please?”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.”  
  
They shifted until Sansa could slowly sink down on him and she closed her eyes in rapture, reveling in the hot, deep fullness she had been craving from the moment she set eyes on him that afternoon. He slowly began to rock her and she hummed her approval, bracing her hands against his shoulders to lift herself up, sliding back down to push her hips back against his.  
  
A mess of sound filled the room: their ragged breath, grunts and moans of pleasure, the slap of naked skin upon skin. Hot, silken walls tightened around him, her pleased mewls picking up in intensity as she moved against him with purpose, taking him deeper to find that spot that would ultimately give her finish.

She stilled above him, her head thrown back as she clenched hard around him. The glow enveloping her in her satisfaction filled him with masculine pride and he thrust again, the ache in his loins becoming nearly unbearable as she sank back into his arms, soft and pliable.  
  
She stared down at him and saw eyes so dark and dilated they were nearly black, she nodded, barely able to breathe before she was tumbled onto her back. He parted her legs and slid back inside her, groaning throatily as she enveloped him once again, still wet and quivering in the aftermath of her climax.  
  
She locked her legs around his waist, and already she could feel the pleasure building again. She was still so sensitive, the hot coil in her belly tightening more and more. He felt her clenching around him and he hitched her leg higher on his hip, deepening his thrusts. “Just let it go, Sansa,” he whispered encouragingly, dropping kisses to her arching neck.  
  
She let go, spectacularly so. She exploded, a sharp cry escaping her and her nails dragging down his back with the intensity of her orgasm. Jon could have sobbed with desperation as she clamped down on him yet again, tight as a vise, but release remained out of his reach. He continued moving, his body straining against her, his low grunts becoming more and more exerted. Sansa knew what he needed, and knew just as well that he would never ask. She would have to give, though there wasn’t any hardship in giving.  
  
“Jon, you need to let go,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m here. I’m stronger than you think. Let yourself go, and I’ll be here to catch you.”  
  
Jon let his head fall to her shoulder, Sansa’s fingers tangling in his hair. His hips pushed harder against her, the arch of them deepening as Sansa suspected she was due to be rather sore in the morning. A little discomfort would be worth it, she decided, as she scratched her nails against Jon’s scalp and nipped at his neck. Jon’s gentleness was always beyond pleasing, but there was something undeniably exciting about Jon finally letting go of his infamous control. Her lover was close, she could feel it. “Finish for me, Jon. Let me feel you.”  
  
Jon’s body obeyed, sweat-soaked hair falling over his eyes as he bowed forward, hips giving one last sharp thrust before he came with a growling groan. Sansa surprised herself by following after, her breath catching with the sharp rush of pleasure that burst through her. She was shaky and fighting for breath as Jon collapsed over her, resting his head against her breast. Sansa wrapped quivering arms around him, feeling his heart pounding against her own, chests heaving as they came down from their exertion.  
  
“I’m so tired of fighting against this,” Jon mumbled against her breast, “And I haven’t the will to keep doing so.”  
  
Sansa smoothed his hair back against his brow, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to.”


End file.
